


A Study in Charcoal

by starbear (panda_hiiro)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Art Student!Lance, Life Drawing Model!Shiro, Love at First Sight, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:17:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_hiiro/pseuds/starbear
Summary: Rule number one: don't ogle the models in life drawing class.Lance is fine with that. Until he meets Shiro.





	A Study in Charcoal

Rule number one: don’t ogle the models.

Okay, well, a certain amount of ogling was required - this was a life drawing class, after all, intent study of the human form was kind of the point. ‘Don’t be _creepy_ about ogling the models’ might have been a better way to put it, and that precept had been drilled into Lance’s head from day one of art school. To the apparent surprise of his friends, Lance actually hadn’t had any trouble following this simple directive - sure, drawing nude models _sounded_ racy, but despite having a healthy appreciation for the aesthetic of the human body, Lance was generally too preoccupied with the drawing part to give more than a cursory acknowledgement to the nude part. In fact, he took this act very seriously, approaching a blank page with singular and dedicated focus; it was perhaps the only time Lance was ever quiet, and it surprised even himself that when a pencil was in his hand, he could go for hours without his attention ever waning. The model, in this case, was just an extension of that, and so far he hadn’t, even once, been fazed by someone disrobing for a life drawing session.

Until _this guy_ walked in.

He’d expected Darlene, an older and perfectly charming woman who was all marvelous curves that he loved to draw; instead, the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen walked into the studio. 6’2” if he was an inch and built like a superhero, with a jawline that you could cut diamonds on; he had dark, close-cropped hair with a shock of white bangs in the front and a jagged scar cut across his nose that lent a dangerous sort of air to him. This last was belied by the gentle nature of his expression, the deep gray of his eyes and the soft, almost shy turn of his smile. Shiro - his name was Shiro. Lance caught that much through his starstruck haze, though he was too busy picking his jaw up off the floor to hear anything else the professor was saying.

God. He was in love.

“We’ll start off with a few one minute poses,” the professor said, “Shiro, you’re right over here.”

Shiro nodded, walked towards the small stage set up in the middle of the classroom, and peeled off the robe that had been given to him. Lance’s breath caught somewhere in his lungs, and he was in danger of turning blue by the time he remembered how to breathe again. He cast a brief glance around the room; the rest of the students were busy pulling out pencils and erasers, adjusting their easels or putting in earbuds. As far as he could tell, none of them were having the same kind of crisis Lance was having; how, he didn’t know. Had they _looked_ at this guy?

Shiro finished disrobing, did a little stretch, and settled into the first pose. It wasn’t until then that Lance noticed the prosthetic - he’d been a little too preoccupied with the _rest_ of Shiro to really notice it at first, but it was hard to take his eyes off it now. Most of Shiro’s right arm was metal, a smooth expanse that ran down from a cluster of scarred skin just below his shoulder. Lance told himself not to stare, but it was kind of hard not to; the design of the prosthetic was unusual, streamlined and seamless, and it didn’t seem like Shiro had any trouble moving it. Lance hadn’t ever seen anything like it. Certainly there was a story behind it, as there must have been to the myriad of old scars lining Shiro’s skin, and Lance couldn’t help wondering what it was.

Shiro moved and Lance realized he’d completely missed his first pose, distracted as he was. He grabbed hastily at a piece of charcoal and scribbled out a quick gesture onto his drawing pad, making a quick, feeble attempt at sketching out the bulk of Shiro’s form. This wasn’t so bad - one minute poses meant Lance had to focus on line of action, on capturing the weight and essence of a gesture instead of studying the intricacies of form. There was something calming about it, just the simple act of drawing, the hushed atmosphere broken only by the steady, quiet scratching of charcoal on paper.

It was only once they transitioned into longer poses - three five minute poses, and finally one twenty minute pose that had Shiro reclined on the draped stage, relaxed and supine - that Lance was really in trouble. Where had they found this guy, anyway? He was _ripped_ \- with a vaguely trembling hand, Lance attempted to sketch out the shape of that firmness, all the while trying not to imagine what it would feel like to touch him, to run his fingers across the cut of Shiro’s chest, along his ridiculously well-defined abs and down to the... _generous_ endowment nestled in the coarse patch of hair between his legs. Lance’s eyes certainly didn’t need to be lingering _there_ , and his cheeks warmed with embarrassment as he tracked his gaze back up, only to directly lock eyes with Shiro, who was looking right at him. Panic set in; had he caught Lance staring? Wait, no, everyone was staring at him, that was the whole point of _being_ a model, but...there was something unsettlingly direct about his expression, and Lance retreated behind the safety of his easel while he tried to will his heartbeat back into a normal rhythm.

With a small sigh, Lance turned his focus back to his drawing. It was...well, quite frankly, it sucked. He smudged at it, adjusting the proportions, tackled it with pencil and eraser, but somehow he couldn’t quite get it right. He was still fussing with it when the professor called time for break, and so didn’t notice Shiro’s quiet approach until he was right behind Lance.

“Wow,” Shiro said. “That's really good.”

Lance nearly jumped out of his skin at the quiet compliment, and turned to face Shiro with wide eyes. Shiro had donned his robe - thank _god_ , Lance certainly couldn’t have handled being that close to him otherwise - and was looking at the grayscale mess arranged on Lance’s easel.

“Well,” Lance said, with a bold grin and as much confidence as he could muster, “I was already working from a piece of art.”

_Oh, God. Why did I say that?_

Shiro blinked and, dear god, was that a _blush_ creeping across his chiseled cheeks?

“Um...”

Lance laughed, and offered his hand to Shiro before realizing it was covered in black dust; he pulled his hand back quickly and wiped it on his pants before offering it again, leaving a dark smudge on his jeans.

“Sorry. I’m Lance. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Actually, it’s my first time doing this,” Shiro said, shaking Lance’s hand with a sheepish grin. He used his prosthetic; the metal felt strangely warm against Lance's palm. “I’m a little nervous, if I’m being honest.”

“No way,” Lance said, “You look great! I mean. You’re doing a great job.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.” Shiro’s smile gentled; he hesitated, then said, “Oh, um...you have something...may I?”

He raised a hand, as if to reach for Lance’s face; stunned, Lance managed a slight nod in reply.

“There,” Shiro said, wiping his hand across Lance’s cheekbone, “You had a little bit of charcoal on your face. You’re all set now.”

Lance’s heart didn’t just skip a beat - it screeched to a full-blown stop, and it was only by sheer force of will that he was able to get it to stutter back into functioning again. Shiro, for his part, seemed to have no idea that he had very nearly been responsible for Lance’s untimely death.

“Oh. Uh.” Lance covered his cheek with his hand, the spot where Shiro’s fingers had brushed against his skin tingling as if with electricity. “Thanks?”

“No problem,” Shiro said, “Keep up the good work, yeah?”

“Yeah!” Lance flashed a nervous grin and pointed two charcoal-stained finger guns at Shiro. “You too!”

_Wow.  Just kill me now._

Students started filing back into the classroom, taking up positions at their easels as the professor called the class back into session. One more long pose; Shiro slipped out of his robe and settled onto the stage again, the graceful, firm curve of his body highlighted by the early afternoon sun streaming in from the high windows, his gaze fixed on some distant, indistinct spot. He reminded Lance of nothing less than some large cat, a lion or a tiger, powerful even in repose. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to see that body in action.

But when Lance settled in to draw, it was Shiro’s face that drew his gaze - there was something unreadable in Shiro’s expression, a carefully marshalled distance that held some hidden depth of emotion. Quiet, lost in thought, as if he were seeing something beyond, something invisible to everyone else; or maybe Lance was imagining that, and Shiro was just counting down the minutes until this was all over. Who knew? Either way, Lance was captivated. He could have worked on that drawing for hours and still not been satisfied: but then, how could he expect to render that magnetism onto the page, to capture the contrast between the soft timbre of Shiro’s voice and the power of his frame? He could have drawn Shiro a thousand times and never expressed it.

A strange, heavy feeling weighed on him as the class ended. Around him the other students began packing up, some magic spell lifted as the sacred quiet of the studio was broken by the noise of casual conversation. Lance breathed a sigh and stared at the drawing on his paper; it wasn’t bad. Technically speaking, anyway. It just wasn’t _right_. It wasn’t Shiro, whatever that meant. Frustration - that was what this was, mingled with something else simmering at the edges of his consciousness.

Longing, perhaps.

“Hey.” Shiro’s voice didn’t startle him quite as much this time; he was dressed again, hands stuck in the pockets of his jacket. He was really cute with his clothes on, too, Lance mused. “Can I see?”

“Uh, sure.” Lance scratched at the back of his neck and stepped away from the easel. “Don’t laugh or anything, though, okay?”

“Why would I laugh? It’s beautiful.” Shiro paused. “Wait, that probably made me sound really vain.”

“No, not all,” Lance said, “You _are_ beautiful.”

“Do you say that to all your models, or…?”

“Just the beautiful ones,” Lance said. “You really think it looks okay?”

“Yeah. You’re really talented.” Shiro paused, and held a finger up to his nose. “You forgot the scar, though.”

“Huh? I...oh, crap, you’re right. Um, sorry?”

Shiro laughed; a choir of angels couldn’t have sounded any more beautiful.

“It’s okay. I look better without it.”

“You look fine with it, too,” Lance said.

A vague shadow crossed Shiro’s face, but he smiled.

“Thank you.”

“So...will I see you again? You were pretty fun to draw. I'd like to see more of you,” Lance said. “I mean, technically, I’ve already seen _all_ of you, but. You know what I mean.”

"This wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. So maybe." Shiro paused, as if considering something. "Hey, can I borrow that for a second?”

“Huh?” Lance stared at the piece of charcoal in his hand that Shiro was pointing at. He shrugged, and handed it over. “Sure?”

Shiro took the charcoal and, on a stretch of empty space on Lance’s paper, scrawled out a series of numbers.

“You can erase it if you want,” Shiro said, handing the charcoal back over. “Anyway, I should probably go. I’ll see you again, sometime.”

Shiro offered a small wave as he turned to leave while Lance just stood there, stunned into silence. He stared at the neat, orderly sequence of numbers printed onto his paper, and tried to instill some meaning into them. Then, it hit him - Lance balled his hand into a triumphant fist, heedlessly crumbling the stick of charcoal into a messy clump of dust as the realization dawned over him.

“ _Ye_ _s!”_

A phone number.

It was a phone number.


End file.
